


Mein Herz

by acedott



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Dancing, M/M, Operas, POV Hermann Gottlieb, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Slow Dancing, Waltzing, nickname as intimacy, pure self indulgent fluff, sentimental use of german
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acedott/pseuds/acedott
Summary: Thanks to his Drift with Newton, Hermann had taken to playing music in the lab while working. At reasonable levels, of course, and none of Newton's shrieking cacophony that he called music. He did own all of Newton's old band's albums, but that was a closely guarded secret. And his thoughts while listening to Newton sing were...decidedly not conducive to focusing on complicated equations.No, the music Hermann played was primarily opera.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Mein Herz

**Author's Note:**

> BIG thank you to OnyxSphynx for beta'ing this fic! Go check out his fics here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx

Thanks to his Drift with Newton, Hermann had taken to playing music in the lab while working. At reasonable levels, of course, and none of Newton's shrieking cacophony that he called music. He did own all of Newton's old band's albums, but that was a closely guarded secret. And his thoughts while listening to Newton sing were...decidedly _not_ conducive to focusing on complicated equations.

No, the music Hermann played was primarily opera. Family outings to the opera were some of Hermann's few treasured childhood memories, even if those outings were so Lars could see and be seen by wealthy well-to-do's. Hermann had fantasized as a child about being an operatic prince; strong and confident, but sensitive and soft as well.

As he hummed along to the opening notes of _Tristan und Isolde_ (Hermann refused on principle to refer to any opera by its English translation), Newton rolled his eyes from across the lab.

"Dude, I’ve heard enough of this opera to last a lifetime. This was the opera Monica was starring in during that 'I'm a loving mommy' phase she had. She dragged me to every rehearsal and made me come to every performance. It was the worst month of my life."

"Having to listen to that grating voice every night for a month must have been torture," Hermann said.

Newton scoffed. "You don't have to pretend to hate Germany's prized coloratura for me, but I appreciate the loyalty."

"You do realize, Newton, that I am capable of having opinions that are not based on your life? Privately, I have always found her voice...warbly. This is not a popular opinion among opera patrons, so I keep it to myself, but I was no fan of hers long before we ever began corresponding."

"Meine Held!" Newton swooned dramatically into his chair, hand over his heart. Hermann ignored how that made his heart flutter. "Can we skip it anyway, though? It's, like, one of my least favorite operas. And not just because Monica ruined it for me."

"I suppose you prefer _Der Ring des Nibelungen_ ," Hermann sniffed disdainfully. Still, he skipped it.

"You're so fucking pretentious. Just call it the Ring Cycle like everyone else."

"That is not its name, Newton, so I will not."

"Dude, you can call me Newt. We've known each other for twenty years and you rescued me from a colonizing alien hivemind. If anyone has earned nickname privileges, it's you."

"Again, that is not your name, so I will not."

Newton threw a pencil at him and grinned. "You're the worst."

"You would know, I suppose," Hermann responded idly, returning to his calculations.

"Dick." 

A few hours passed with only the sounds of chalk on chalkboard and soft opera filling the sounds of the lab. 

"Do you only listen to German opera?" Newton asked, apropos of nothing. 

Hermann sighed and set down his chalk and turned around. He hadn't been making any progress for the last half hour anyway, but he would never let Newton know that.

"Is there something wrong with German opera?"

"Of course not, but this has been, like, five straight hours of it. At first it was nice to hear so much German, you know, but now it's a bit much. Would it kill you to throw in some variety? Maybe even... _not_ opera? You know, _Rent_ was based on _La Bohème_ , so really it wouldn't be—"

"Absolutely not. That show bears only a passing resemblance to the masterful—"

"Okay, but still, can we switch up—"

"Don't even get me _started_ on how biphobic the character of Maureen—"

"Any other language, I'm begging—"

"From the beautifully complex Muzetta—"

"I would settle for _French_ , I'm so desperate—"

"I will concede the value of more characters of color in it, but that is its _only_ —"

"You know how desperate I have to be to _request_ French? After that horrible trip to Paris—"

"I mean, 'moo with me,' Newton, really—"

"Even you can't be German enough to only have German opera—"

"And although Tracie Thoms gave a masterful performance in that film, that doesn't fix—"

"Ugh, I'll do it myself." Newton grabbed Hermann's phone.

"No, you'll pick something awful, like that U2 album I never found out how to delete." Hermann stole his phone back, praying Newton hadn't seen his band's albums in his library. "If you're so sick of German, allow me to show you my favorite non-German opera." He pressed play on a different album.

Newt let the music hang in the air for a moment. "This is _Cendrillon_ , right?"

Hermann was startled. "You recognized it from only a few measures?"

"Yeah, man, it's my favorite opera!"

"This is _your_ favorite opera?" 

Newton began counting with his fingers. "One, the staging is always cool as shit. Two, the costumes are _dope_ , they're gorgeous and visually compelling. Three, the prince is a trouser role which opens up delightful queer possibilities and impligaytions—"

"That's not a word."

"And four, it's just _fun_. Not enough operas are fun, there are way too many that are artistic and tragic. I don't know about you, but I've had enough tragedy."

"As have I," Hermann murmured. "This is my favorite opera as well, for precisely the reasons you mentioned."

"You're joking."

"I never joke about opera, you should know this by now. As a child, I wanted to be just like the prince."

"That's adorable, and explains so much about you."

"I used to pretend I was a prince when Father made us take ballroom lessons," he reminisced.

"You know how to waltz?" Newton's face was curiously pink. Hermann decidedly Did Not Notice this.

"Nothing too elaborate, but a simple box step is manageable, yes."

Newton held out a hand shyly. "May I have this dance?"

Hermann looked at him sharply, searching for any malice but finding none. He swallowed and took the offered hand. "It—it may be easier if—"

Newton held out a leg. "Oh, sure. Here, put your foot on top of mine." Hermann did, and hesitantly placed his other hand on Newton's waist, afraid he would pull away at the last second.

Just as hesitantly, Newton placed his hand on Hermann's shoulder. The same fear Hermann felt was reflected in Newton's eyes.

Slowly, getting a feel for each other, Hermann led them in a simple circle. As promised, it was nothing fancy, but it was intoxicating. To feel Newton solid in his arms, to see him concentrating so intently, to be so close.

“You may—” Hermann cleared his throat. “You may put your head on my shoulder. If, if that would be more comfortable.”

“Comfortable,” Newton squeaked. “Yeah, okay.” He rested his head on the juncture between Hermann’s neck and shoulder. This new position had them standing chest to chest, and Hermann could feel Newton’s heart beating rapidly, almost as fast as his own.

He hesitantly tilted his head so he was leaning against Newton’s forehead. Both of their heart rates rose.

“ _Newt_ ,” Hermann breathed. He thought he had been too quiet for the other to hear, but Newton stopped.

“You just called me Newt,” he whispered. He hadn’t moved his head from Hermann’s shoulders.

“Ah. Yes. Yes, I—I did.”

“You never call me Newt. You don’t like nicknames. One time I called you Hermann the German, which is barely a nickname and more of a statement of fact that happens to rhyme, and you didn’t talk to me for a week.”

“Nicknames are very...intimate. And I have to continually remind myself of distance between us. Otherwise I might do something very ill-advised.”

“Like what?” 

Hermann took a breath and a risk. “Ich würde dir sagen, dass ich dich mehr liebe, als jegliche mathematische Gleichung quantifizieren könnte.”

Newton’s heart was now hammering so hard Hermann could feel it better than his own. “Oh.” He lifted his head to look Hermann in the eyes. 

His breath caught. Newton’s eyes always caught him off guard when he let himself look into them directly. He had a way of looking at Hermann like he was seeing him for the first time, and like he knew everything about him. Even now, with soft wrinkles at the corners and touches of gray at his temples, he made Hermann feel like a schoolboy with a first crush. 

“Mein Prinz,” Newton whispered, stroking Hermann’s cheek. Hermann let himself lean into the touch, but couldn't tear his eyes away from Newton’s. “Mein Liebe. Mein Hermann.”

Hermann’s vision went misty. “Mein Newt.”

Newt closed the distance between them. It was just a chaste press of lips, but there was a desperation there all the same. Decades of unexpressed feelings made themselves known in the soft pressure of their lips against each other and in the way they held each other, Newt’s free hand cupping Hermann’s jaw while Hermann’s fisted in Newt’s shirt. Their other hands were still clasped together from the waltz, though they had dropped down to be by their waists instead of at shoulder level.

When they finally pulled apart to breathe, Hermann smiled. “Newt.”

Newt smiled back. “Hi.”

“ _My_ Newt.”

Newt pressed a little peck to Hermann’s jaw. “Your Newt,” he agreed and put his head back on Hermann’s shoulder. “By the way, I saw my albums in your music library. I always wondered who the only person to buy our albums was.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Hermann said, leading them into a waltz again.

“I get alerts every time someone buys our album. I got an alert when my dad bought one, alerts when everyone in the band bought them, and then nothing until 2017, when _someone_ bought all of them.”

“Fascinating. I would imagine that person must like hearing your voice very much to listen to that racket willingly.”

“I wonder why that person likes my voice so much. Any theories, Hermann?” Newt wondered teasingly.

“Like I said, I wouldn't know. But perhaps that person loved you very much, and in fact never stopped loving you, but got their heart broken by a misunderstanding between the two of you in 2017. And rather than express this, they chose to listen to your...music to still feel close to you.” Hermann expertly spun them into a turn. “But again, I'm merely speculating.”

Newt hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I'm glad this person found a way to express themselves.” He rose up to kiss Hermann again.

Hermann smiled against the kiss. “I believe this person has indeed found a way to express how they feel.”

**Author's Note:**

> I used to work at an opera company, which has left me with opinions about operas and battle scars from dealing with entitled patrons.
> 
> I used google translate for everything, so I'm sorry if there's any errors. The phrases are "my hero!" , "I would tell you that I love you more than any mathematical equation could quantify." , "My prince" , "my love" , "my Hermann" , "my Newt"


End file.
